Warning: contains Non-Con
Vincent Charbonneau's entry into Hell was far from the grandiose inferno he had envisioned. Instead of a blaze of flames, he was greeted by a crushing, ashen void. The air was thick with an acrid stench of rot and sulfur, while the sky above was an unyielding shade of crimson. Hell was not a realm of fire but a sprawling, bleak wasteland where the very essence of despair seemed to pervade every inch.
His execution had been swift and unceremonious. He had thought of it as merely another chapter in his life's grim narrative-a life marked by a predilection for the macabre. But in death, Vincent found himself in a realm that seemed custom-made to reflect his inner corruption. The endless expanse of Hell was a cruel mockery of his former life, where he had once wielded control with precision.
Vincent roamed this desolate expanse, desperate for some form of solitude amidst the ever-present torment. The damned souls around him wandered aimlessly, their hollow eyes reflecting the void within them. He sought to escape their suffering, to find a corner of this godforsaken place where he could be alone.
Yet, Vincent's hope for isolation was a fleeting illusion. Rody Lamoree, a notorious figure even in Hell, had taken an unsettling interest in him. Rody's reputation was that of a remorseless predator, his sins so vile that even the depths of Hell seemed to pale in comparison. He had been a serial rapist, a cruel tormentor who had delighted in the suffering of others. Now, in the realm of eternal punishment, his predatory nature was only heightened.
Rody's first sighting of Vincent was in the shadows of a crumbling ruin, a place where the darkness seemed to converge with the thick stench of decay. His eyes, sharp and cruel, locked onto Vincent with a predatory gleam. Rody's appearance was almost grotesque in its vitality, a stark contrast to the bleak surroundings. His muscular frame and disheveled auburn hair gave him an imposing presence, his eyes betraying a sadistic hunger.
"You're different from the rest," Rody's voice slithered through the darkness, a sound as cold and foreboding as the void itself. "I've been waiting for someone like you. Someone to break."
Rody's pursuit of Vincent was both relentless and methodical. The once-mighty chef found himself hunted by the embodiment of his worst nightmares. Rody used every advantage the infernal landscape offered, his movements swift and predatory. He knew every twisted path and crumbling edifice of Hell, his stalking almost a game to him.
Vincent's attempts to evade his tormentor were futile. The terrain was treacherous, the rocks and fissures offering no sanctuary. Each time Vincent thought he had found a temporary refuge, Rody would appear, his eyes gleaming with malicious satisfaction.
"You can't escape," Rody's taunts echoed through the darkness. "You're mine now. Just like the others were mine."
Eventually, Rody cornered Vincent in an abandoned, dilapidated fortress. The walls were smeared with the grotesque remnants of previous tortures, the floor littered with debris and the remnants of shattered souls. The air was heavy with the scent of decay, an unwelcoming place where hope was an alien concept.
Rody's actions were brutal and unrelenting. He tore at Vincent's clothes with a viciousness that left him exposed and vulnerable. Vincent's struggles were weak and desperate, his attempts to resist thwarted by Rody's overpowering strength.
With a twisted smile, Rody forced Vincent to the ground. His hands were rough and merciless as they explored Vincent's body, the touch both invasive and humiliating. Rody's breath was hot against Vincent's skin, each movement deliberate and cruel.
"This is what you wanted," Rody whispered, his voice a venomous hiss. "To have control over others. Now, you're the one who's powerless."
Rody forced himself onto Vincent with a brutal, almost frenzied energy. The act was a grotesque parody of the dominance Vincent had once enjoyed over others. The pain was searing, each thrust a cruel reminder of his helplessness. Rody's laughter was harsh and mocking, a sound that echoed through the ruin and seemed to seep into Vincent's very soul.
